Perfect
by Adrian Tullberg
Summary: Based on a suggestion by Bighead98. xover.


Perfect

By Adrian Tullberg.

* * *

Based on a suggestion by Bighead98

* * *

The console exploded.

Needless to say, that this happened so commonly that one Rory Williams only really began to react when the Doctor began to really thrash around throwing levers and kicking the base of the device with more frenetic action than normal.

"C'mon old girl … getting taken out and put back in yourself couldn't have thrown you off that much, eh?"

"Can we …" The Doctor had grabbed the free swivelling monitor and was staring at it with increasing alarm.

"Doctor, tell us what's wrong."

"We're jumping time tracks."

Amy had finally gotten up to the console level. "As you've no doubt heard, prefixing everything with 'time' and 'temporal' doesn't mean we automatically understand what's going on."

"The systems which prevent us from meeting ourselves in our past or future have decided to go on strike."

"Hang on; there are systems which stop us meeting ourselves?"

"And they've worked while we've been here?"

The Doctor was somewhat too preoccupied to give this criticism the appropriate retort. "Those systems are not only not working, but completely destabilising the normal routes we travel … think of … instead of shifting down from fourth to third gear on the motorway, you shift from fourth to first, and you and the car go literally flying over the divides …"

"Not one word about my driving, Rory."

"Flying into what …?"

The Doctor reached underneath the console, and tore out something important enough to turn off most of the lights on the console and hallways. "You two. When we land, get ready to run as fast as you can out the doors because the TARDIS will shut down almost immediately; bad news for anyone left inside."

"Where are we going."

The Doctor looked up at Rory.

"We're going into the Time War."

* * *

"When you mentioned the Time War …"

"Yes …?"

Rory leaned back. "I was imagining … I don't know … a World War One No-Man's-Land with fantastic technology dotted around in some kind of futuristic apocalyptic scenario."

The Doctor rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "Yes. An unseasonably warm day in Hanover Park does tend to shatter the dread the Last Great Time War deserves."

Amy approached the park bench, already delving into the contents of a plastic bag. "Okay, sandwiches and drinks for all. You need to top up my debit card when we're back in the TARDIS."

Rory prised open the plastic container of his chicken-and-avocado as Amy wedged herself between the two. "So we're inside the Time Lock then?"

"I managed to steer us to the very edge. Should only last a few hours. Earth wasn't involved in the War; probably a scout ship passing through. That's why the TARDIS is shut down; no evidence of Time Lord technology. Now, normally, when I say 'don't get involved'…"

"We Google ourselves when we get home to see ourselves in the history books."

A slight coughing.

"You mean, you do Rory."

"You only stopped because I was beating you."

A more insistent coughing.

"… this time, I mean it. Really, really mean it. We sit tight. No nothing. No getting involved. A nice, quiet day, a walk, a little shopping, and in a few hours…"

An impatient sigh. "Doctor!"

The three froze, then slowly turned to look behind them.

When he got a good look, the Doctor groaned at the person behind them, then stood up.

Amy and Rory saw a woman. A familiar-looking woman, late twenties or thereabouts, in an ankle length black skirt, lace up boots, primly buttoned black jacket, black hat and blue, piercing eyes. A large carpet bag was clutched in a white-gloved hand, and an umbrella was tucked in the crook of her arm. Specifically, an umbrella with a parrot head handle. A parrot head handle that seemed to be giving the trio the once-over, and found them – particularly the Doctor – wanting.

The Doctor tried to smile, and failed dismally. "Hello."

The woman didn't bother to make the same effort. "Doctor." She glanced at Amy and Rory and gave the Doctor a quizzical expression.

Resigned, the Doctor turned around to face the couple. "Amy. Rory. I'd like you to meet Mary Poppins."

Rory's jaw dropped.

"My … ex-wife."

"Technically, we're still married."

Now it was Amy's turn to drop her jaw.

* * *

"Don't speak to her unless absolutely necessary."

"Guess she has all the dirt on you, right?"

"I mean it." The Doctor snuck a look at the back of the marching Poppins before continuing. "We've jumped outside the chain of events. Right now, the Time War is, for her, still going strong. So, be pleasant, be honest, but whatever you do-"

Rory continued. "-don't mention the War?"

"Or the marriages."

The Doctor stopped. "What?"

Amy gave her sweetest smile. "That we know about. Marilyn Monroe …"

"That didn't count."

"Something about Elizabeth the First? I mean, I'm beginning to think you only chose 'the Doctor' because 'the Serial Bigamist' doesn't really trip off the tongue."

The Doctor looked away, muttering. "Never had a marriage in the same Time Zone. So it'd be more accurate to say I'm … a multiple widower."

"So less chasing for child support, more policemen digging up your back garden?"

The Doctor gave his opinion of this last statement of Amy's by increasing his pace until he drew level with Poppins.

"You're … looking well."

"And you've finally gotten rid of the leather and goatee."

"So …"

"So you've finally impressed upon your humans the importance of keeping quiet while meeting out of sequence?"

"It came up while they were mocking my personal losses. It was that obvious?"

"You don't look like you've fought in the front lines of anything in a while."

"And you don't look … hopefully … that you're going to fight anything while you're here."

"Just retrieving something of mine since I'm here."

"Need any…"

"No help of yours, thankfully. You couldn't even keep hold of Susan."

"… more like I decided I shouldn't."

Poppins sniffed, turning away. "As if you're any authority on when people need or don't need your help."

"And you're the authority on … control freaks."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's the problem with having your own private biographer; people read what you've done."

Poppins snapped a glare back at the Doctor. "I give guidance when it's needed."

"I give help when it's needed. Not …" He looked back at Rory and Amy before turning back to Poppins. "… we're doing it again."

"Well, I'm all for keeping a civil head. Come along, spit spot!"

Mary Poppins increased the pace of her march, the Doctor, Rory and Amy in tow, until they reached the entrance of Sotheby's Auction House at New Bond Street, London.

* * *

"… and this next piece, Untitled, was first commissioned and owned by none other than Pamela Lyndon Travers herself, until-"

"One Million Pounds!"

Derek Sewell, junior auctioneer looked up to see the woman march directly towards the dais where the artwork was positioned.

"Madam, I…"

"Sir, I want this. Now."

"Madam, first you must…"

"Sir, we can bid, and counter bid, but that would waste time." The woman placed a bag on the table, and started taking large bundles of banknotes out of it's depths. More banknotes than the bag could possibly contain. "And I never waste time."

Derek was about to begin his protests again, but the woman gave him a look. The kind of look that was reminiscent of long ago childhood humiliations and unflinching parental rebukes, condensed into a single disapproving instant.

After five unfathomably long seconds under that gaze, the woman turned away and continued stacking large amounts of money on the table before him. Derek had come to the sensible conclusion that one didn't become senior auctioneer without employing a little flexibility in protocol. Especially when the Estimate and Bid Premium had been well and truly overtaken.

Even when this woman took the item and handed it to the young man with the parka vest, and left with her entourage, it never occurred to Derek to write up a much lesser amount and pocket the cash difference for himself.

* * *

"First time I've carried something worth a million pounds."

"Really? Oh right, I never told you how much zippers fetch a few hundred years from now."

Poppins had, with her usual unrelenting motion, headed towards an empty storefront. Holding her umbrella, she rapped smartly on the door, causing it to smoothly open.

The four moved into the back, and Rory set the frame down according to Poppins' instructions.

Amy looked at the picture frame, then back at Poppins. It was a picture of an unremarkable two-story house on a city street.

"Okay. Want to tell us why this painting is worth a million pounds?"

Poppins had smoothly extracted the picture from the frame and glass plate. "It's not a painting."

"Oh?"

Poppins stood up the art on it's edge; it stood up perfectly. Rory suspected that the laws of physics was letting this slide in fear of the stern talking to this woman would deliver if the art fell. "It's a picture."

"Okay."

Poppins took Rory's and the Doctor's hands, the Doctor took Amy's hand.

"Specifically, it's a chalk drawing."

She took a step forward-

* * *

And they found themselves inside a house. Specifically; A hallway which began at what was most likely the front door, and nearby was a flight of stairs, which Poppins had already begun to ascend.

"…whu … where … what is this?"

"The Banks."

Amy reacted to the Doctor, then looked up at Poppins. "Hang on, the Banks? You mean where she looked after those kids, and sung with the penguins?"

A crash from the stairwell made the Doctor wince.

"Pond … never mention the film near her. Ever."

Rory leaned in. "So, why are we … is she here?"

The Doctor begun to ascend the stairs. "Like I said; we're in the Banks … where else would you store something valuable?"

Two flights later, the three entered the open doorway into an attic that had been converted into a nursery. From the looks of it, Poppins had retrieved a strongbox from a nearby cupboard that had once held children's clothing, opened it, and was now examining it's contents at a nearby table. It looked like a leatherbound folder containing numerous pages that were all handwritten.

The Doctor sat down next to Poppins. "They're from her?"

Poppins, face unreadable, gave the Doctor a short, pitying glance.

"Oh yes, who else could they be from?"

Poppins closed the folder. "Who else."

The Doctor tried to touch her gloved hand in a reassuring fashion but lost the nerve halfway through. "I knew you two were…"

"She was annoying. Aggravating. Flighty …"

"… no sense of narrative …"

"Australian. Don't forget that …"

The Doctor tapped the folder with an index finger.

Poppins turned to look directly at the Doctor. "I met Helen when I was looking for you and Susan. The Council needed someone to intervene discreetly, and she helped. Like..." she tilted her head towards Rory and Amy. "I kept returning to her. Even when I didn't need her help. Even when she wrote those stories, calling every one of my projects The Banks. Even when I started to look like that Andrews woman …"

"And one day you returned … and she wasn't …"

For an instant, that porcelain perfect expression cracked.

For an instant.

"I suppose … I could go back … inbetween. But do you know what it's like to return to someone … and you know they've …"

The Doctor kept his face neutral as he nodded at Mary Poppins.

Rory and Amy made sure they were out of direct line of sight of the Doctor.

Poppins had opened the folder again, and rereading another letter. "They live … they live such short little single lives …"

"They grow up. And old. And out if they like saturated fats." This time, the Doctor took her hand. "And in those short little single lives they can live so much more than we could, alone."

Poppins took the Doctor's hand in her other, and gave a brief smile.

"We'll wait downstairs until you're ready."

* * *

A few hours later, the four exited the deserted shop. Poppins stopped to check her reflection in the window before turning to the Doctor.

"Back to Gallifrey?"

"Strategic sub-committees don't chair themselves."

"Good luck."

"I don't mind telling you, I've been a bit worried about the outcome. Now I know that it'll be alright."

"You've always been remarkably sure of yourself."

"And I know that if the Daleks win, your head would be first on a spike. You're alive, ergo, we win."

The Doctor wrestled that concept with the truth with his face. Badly. "I'm not going to explain myself."

"And they wonder where I learned that from."

The Doctor held out his hand, awkwardly.

Smoothly, Mary Poppins leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, before taking the picture, and walking briskly away.

Amy leaned in. "So that was the ex-wife?"

"Yup."

"I imagined more death, destruction, and bitter arch nemesis."

"You should have seen the visitation hearings."

* * *

Mary Poppins walked down the street, picture in arm, until she saw a young man near a convenience store. Marching up to him, she handed him the frame and all to his complete surprise.

"Young man, you will look after this picture. You will make sure this picture is undamaged and unharmed. If you cannot continue to look after this picture, you will hand it over to someone who can, do you understand?"

The young man was about to tell this woman what to do with her demand and her painting in graphic, shocking, anatomical detail when he looked her in the eye and saw something terrifying and yet exiting. He took the picture frame and headed home. The woman's instruction to keep the picture safe led to him taking a greater investment in his education and life choices, leading to a move to a more influential locale than the estate he was currently residing.

Mary Poppins took her Umbrella and unfurled it.

"Annoying. Aggravating. Flighty. Australian…"

The winds bore her aloft.

"… Perfect In Every Way."


End file.
